We held a funeral last Friday for Matt’s dad and buried his ashes on Saturday. It felt good to cry big, fat tears at the funeral. My cloth mask was SOAKED by the end.
Also, halle-friggin-lujah for masks and their ability to shield your ugly-crying face from the rest of the world. So helpful and good.
We lost a really good dude, but I take heart in knowing that his sons follow his example in the best ways. And hearing the Gospel shared at a funeral is the best balm for the soul — one of my favorite feelings, I’ve decided.
I have closure, and feel like I now have a little more space for sad things and am less tired. This year BLOWS.
In closing: we drove home from Minnesota by way of Iowa, and I have to say I had it all wrong and am sorry for all the bad things I ever said about it.